


To Dwell in Possibility

by karrenia_rune



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Arthurian, Character Study, Lancelot - Freeform, challenge: yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Lancelot's character and his being torn between warring loyalties and desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dwell in Possibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vlieger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/gifts).



Disclaimer: the Arthurian Legends and the characters who appear here or are mentioned are not mine, and are only 'borrowed' for the purposes of the story. Written for vlieger's request in the Rare Fandom Yuletide 2009 Challenge.

 

The heart is a wayward organ; and perhaps it always has been and he is only now stumbling upon that discovery on his own. For his own has proven to be both the most incredibly steadfast and the most maddeningly part of his body. The smell of rain-kissed leaves washes over him like a balm to his melancholy spirit.

Lancelot tethers his horse to the out-flung arm of a tree among a grouping of old and weathered hickory as the sky, half-hidden by the foliage and the over-arching branches is in the process of going through its alchemical change from an egg-shell blue to a light mauve and finally transitioning into the deep edge of night.

Now would be an excellent time to gather dry wood for a fire in preparation for making a camp for the night, and even as the practical thought crossed his mind, other perhaps unbidden and then perhaps not so much, he thought, " I love him, I love her. Know that I do. Yet do I marvel that such a thing has come to pass. Oh, not for my honor to I wish to not have this untidy affair bruited about; but for theirs."

The honor and the titles and the accolades that have followed him all of his life, in some ways he has come to accept as his due: It is simply a matter of course; as natural as breathing the air. He was a knight, a captain of men,; and the closest friend to the king of all Britain.

Truth be told that should enough for any man; even more than enough. Yet a part of his soul, a part that will not let him rest, even far away from the court, stirs and would not allow him to truly be at peace with himself or the untenable situation.

In the back of his mind he thought, teeth grinding, "Yea, do the poets lie when they say that love conquers all, that love sees all, and that even in misery we love company.'

If old bromide were true than even now at this very minute he would be dashing back to Camelot as fast as his horse could carry him to be with the two individuals in the world that he loves best: "Guinevere, oh My Gwen. And Arthur!"

Lancelot heaved a sigh that seem to begin at the soles of his feet and then travel through and up his legs to finally lodge somewhere near his throat; a most awkward sensation which forced to stop his current activity and cough.

 

 

Once the coughing fit stopped a sudden realization hit him with the force of a jousting lance to the belly:

Truly, it was useless to speculate at this late hour and finished with seeing to his mount's comfort Lancelot began to look to his own. Dragging the saddle bags down he took out his bedroll and laid it on the ground before almost throwing himself on top of it.

The sky grew darker and soon tiny pinpricks of stars appeared in the sky. As he exhausted as he was: given the long distance ride and then the ocean crossing to king Ban's land; sleep is elusive for him, but at least Lancelot succumbed to sleep.  
***

The following morning he woke up to discover the day far advanced but a glance up at the sky and the fall and play of sunlight on the leaves and the trees and the dappled sunlight on the ground of the forest glade where he spent the night told him that it was not yet noon.

Muttering aloud to himself and wiping the grit of dust, dirt and weariness from his eyes with the backs of his strong hands; Lancelot said: "Really now, all this moping about is doing none of us any good, now is it? Best be moving on. And I am not going to win any renown or make a dent in the adding to the lore of Old Pellinore's story of a dragon roaming hereabouts by doing so, now am I?"

His horse, untied from the branch, with a full belly and replete with drinking water from the puddles that formed on the ground from the previous night's downpour seemed to agree.

It simply shook its blunt head, and swished its tail back and forth in an effort to ward the flies.

"I am glad you agree, old boy," remarked Lancelot with a mingled expression that was half-way between a grimace and a wry grin.

Repacking everything that he had taken out of the saddlebags and rubbing his neck with free hand in an attempt to relieve the stiffness he breakfasted on the hard bread and a wedge of cheese and then stuffed them back in the satchel where he had found them.

 

Upon further reflection and perhaps more clear-headed than he had been since the decision had been made to depart Camelot and its attendant joys and sorrows; had been provident. The fates had been both exceedingly kind and exceedingly cruel to him, but the path had been laid out before him and it simply remained for him to choose whether or not to walk down it. There were always choices to be made in this life; for good or ill and he had made his own share of them. Perhaps, now he, now could he find a way to live with them. Lancelot sighed and squared his shoulders and in one smooth, efficient maneuver swung himself up into the saddle and realized that questing for Sir Pellionore's dragon was a quest that he could be at for however long it took; and more importantly it would keep him far too occupied for wallowing so much at the circumstances that had brought to this point.

Even if the dragon was simply a fabrication or a fancy of Pelliinore's or nothing more than an elaborate hoax it most certainly made for a good fireside tale and he would have so much to tell Gwen upon his return.

For make no mistake he had always intended to come back.

Absent himself from the glittering court of Camelot; he would never be complete without the two: Arthur and Guinevere:

These two: whom he would also think of as Camelot's fulcrum, its hub. And moreover, no matter what had passed between the three of them: whether for good or ill; despite what might lie in their future in his heart of hearts, as wayward and steadfast that it could be; at Camelot he would always belong.


End file.
